Waiting Hastily
by ShhUrDead678
Summary: Sam finishes up a soccer game and starts heading home, down a rather... unpleasant alley, when he is attacked by a group of men. Do Dean and John go and save him? Are they even aware of his absence? Limp!Sam15 Pissed!Dean Pissed!John --ON HIATUS--
1. Chapter 1

Hope you like it!!! U MUST REVIEW!!!!! No buts!

---by the way, Sam is a freshman

_I LOVE YOU GUYS AS MUCH AS A LOVE MY PET FISH FLUFFY!!!!!!!!_

P.S- I do not have a fish =0

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"Great job Sam, keep it up!" Sam felt a smile appear on his face at the words of praise. No, it was not his father, nor Dean, but it was the next best thing. His coach.

Coach Berkin was great at what he did, and that was being a soccer coach. Sam was, by far, the best player on the team. He was only fifteen, while the rest of the team was at least 16, mostly 17. Pride swelled inside of him. Though Dean and his dad weren't cheering him on in the stands, which hurt like never before, he at least felt some ecstasy in his coach watching him. This and school were the only two things he was actually _good_ at. He couldn't hunt. Dad had pretty much said so himself. _Goddamn it Sam, if you screw up a hunt _one_ more time I swear…_

Sam already knew what would probably end up happening. They would hate him, disown him on the spot. He knew that. The only thing they needed him for was hunting, which he usually failed at. All that left him with was researching. That he _was _good at, but he did not see that as a superior quality, unlike his father and brother. His priorities have always been about grades and soccer, which absolutely blew his father away. The only thing John wants to do is find the demon that killed his wife, Sam's mom.

In Sam's eyes, he didn't care about anything else. All the people they had saved in the past were nothing in John Winchester's eyes. He just saved them and got the hell out, considering it a missionfailure.

Sam continued scoring goals all throughout the game, not taking any time in resting. He felt the adrenaline course threw his body as he played man-to-man on one of his opponents, stealing the ball from out between, his legs, and dribbled toward the goal.

Sam could do this for a living. Playing soccer and being at school was what he lived to do. His father, for that matter, nor would his brother, approve of such a "low standard" for him. He was to continue hunting until he held a cane in his elderly hand or dropped dead.

Sam scored again, the score now 14-0. The game had 8 seconds left, not even close to being long enough for the other team to catch up. Sam felt happy, _proud,_ that he had actually made 11 out of the 14 points. Sam dribbled a ball between a guy's legs and ran for the goal again. He had gotten about half way when the buzzer went off, ending the game. Sam stopped running, and slowed down to a halt, breathing heavily.

He, with the rest of his teammates, ran to their coach, huddling around him.

"Good job, team. You all did great. I'm proud of all of you." Coach Berkin said their next practice would be this Saturday at 8:30, ending around noon. Sam's smile lessened, until that was left was a small frown, realizing he and his family would be hunting all this weekend.

He sighed. He was missing yet another practice.

Sam waited until all his teammates dispersed, running off to their loved ones. Sam looked over at Coach Berkin. The look on Sam's face must have shown something, because Coach Berkin did not look too happy.

"Sir,-"

"Can't go to practice?" Coach Berkin pulled his arms over his chest, eyeing Sam carefully.

"Well, sir. I have this…thing I'm going to with my parents. I'm sorry, Coach, but I won't be able to make it." Sam's heart ached slightly at the look of disappointment on his face.

"All right Winchester, I understand." Coach said, pausing before he continued. "You do realize you have missed all but one practice, don't you?"

"Yes, sir, and I'm really-"

"Son, I don't think I can let you play." Sam's mouth hung open. He felt a headache coming on.

"Sir, you can't mean that..."

Soccer was his life. He couldn't just _stop._ Coach Berkin looked at him, pondering thoughtfully.

"Look, if you go to this next practice, I won't cut you. But, it's just not fair to all your teammates. They have been working so hard, while you go off doing god-knows-what during every practice, yet come to every game. Sam, if I didn't know you I'd think you're doing it on purpose." Coach Berkin sighed heavily, wiped his hand over his face. His age was starting to show. "I'll make you a deal. You come to practice, you play. You don't come to practice, I'm cutting you."

Sam felt like he was going to cry. Getting cut from the team would be life-changing. But Coach Berkin was right; it wasn't fair to his team. He got to play during the whole game every game, depriving some of the hard workers of playing. He felt sympathy for them as he realized how miserable they would feel. It was his fault.

Sam nodded to Coach Berkin, letting a sad smile grace his lips. "I'll try, sir. I'll try."

Sam walked toward the hotel after the soccer game, not feeling nearly as happy as he did during the game. He walked through a small alley, no light shining through to light his path.

Sam continued down the path, walking aimlessly in the motel's general direction, too sad to realize that, all the while, he was being watched.

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_REALLY_ hope you liked it!!! I shall update soon. I really hate it when it takes the author a month for each update so, don't worry, I won't do that!! However, it may be hard updating for the next few days because I have exams next week.

**REVIEW OR BEWARE THE WRATH OF THE FINGER!!!!!!!!**


	2. Chapter 2

Hope you like it!!! U MUST REVIEW!!!!! No buts!

_I LOVE YOU GUYS AS MUCH AS A LOVE MY PET FISH FLUFFY!!!!!!!!_

P.S- I do not have a fish =O

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. If I did, well, let's not get into that….. =]

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Sam walked on unheeded as he continued down the path. He felt shivers roll down his spine as the cold air brushed past him. He was fully aware this path to the motel was potentially dangerous, but it was also a shortcut.

He kept going, rubbing his hands together, creating friction to warm his hands. Sam's extreme sadness had lessened just enough for him to be more aware of his surroundings. It was dark outside and the alleyway was fairly narrow for his liking. It irked him as he realized what a bad decision he made.

Sam stopped in his tracks, mentally prepared himself for the worst. He heard a shuffling of feet behind him and he didn't dare turn around. He started walked again, slower this time, listening in detail to every noise. The scuffling behind him were forcibly quieter, whoever was following him sensed his awareness.

Sam picked up his pace, wanting nothing more than to run all the way to the motel. He kept himself calm and collective, not daring to run blindly away from the predators.

As he continued down the alley, entirely aware of their presence, he managed to here them shuffle _closer_ to him. The padding of feet grew louder as they advanced.

Sam spun around, eyeing three tall, bulky men in front of him. If he played his cards right, he could end up winning this fight. Or, what he considered was a fight.

One of the taller, well-built men stuck his hand in his back pocket and pulled out something menacing, pitch as black. The gun never wavered from his target as he continued to advance forward.

With him in possession of a gun, while Sam only had two fists, this definitely brought him to the conclusion that this could end ugly.

Sam grunted, his eyes never straying from his real target. Sam didn't plan on backing down. He was a Winchester.

"Give us all your money and we're out of here. You make this hard, and you're gonna be runnin' to your mommy, begging for death." There was more than one thing wrong with that statement.

Sam watched the gun keenly, preparing what to say and do when the time comes.

As was failed to mention earlier, Sam is a very skilled strategist. In his ever-flowing mind, life is a game of chess. You play your pieces right, you win the game. You make just _one_ mistake, and you have the chance to lose it all.

"I have no money with me at the moment. However, I have some where I'm staying, as long as you don't shoot."

Sam was willing to act the prey. Sam learned at an early age that lying was one of the key elements of survival. Though he told the truth of having no money, he did _not_ plan any getting them anything. This could play out neatly. He would lead them into the motel room, where Dean and John will be; probably cleaning guns till you could see yourself through it. Dean, or John, whichever got to it first, would shoot them all down before the guy even had a chance to pull the trigger.

The man with the gun watched Sam suspiciously, hesitating a moment. Sam saw it as an opening.

"I want try anything funny. Just as long as you let me go, I _will _give you the money." Sam allowed himself to beg, only because he knew all it was was a lie. Sam watched as the man slowly lowered his gun.

"Fine, just hurry."

Sam began to lead the three men down the alley, the gun pushing into the small of his back, prepared for any sudden act of defiance. Sam noted this as they walked at a rather fast pace down the alley. They clearly felt uncomfortable about the whole situation and would not allow any delays.

The more they traveled across the freakishly long and narrow passageway, the more Sam began to feel his heart ache pitifully. What if Dean and his dad weren't there? What if they picked up on a lead and left his sorry ass behind as they went off on another hunt. What would happen when he arrived? Obviously he couldn't take them on by himself. There had to be some other way; a way he could evade the enemies while keeping all his ligaments intact.

The motel came into sight as they came out of the alley and onto the main street. Sam silently gulped. Though it wasn't really anything to go by, the beloved Impala was not parked in front of their motel room. Dean or John could have taken the car while the other stayed home, researching for a hunt. They could have even parked in a less conspicuous spot, for fear they were being followed.

Sam allowed his mind to think up all the reasons why the Impala would not be in the parking lot, but, in the back of his mind, he could tell it would not be what he was hoping.

His mind searching frantically for a way out, searching through and through at everything they slipped by. The man had removed his gun, hiding it in his jacket, as they walked up the stairs.

They were only a few doors away when Sam could allow his denial to go on any longer. He was alone, and he was too dumb to believe it. He had a frightening revelation as he thought of all the scenarios go through his mind. He wouldn't let them leave without a fight, but for what purpose? They would steal at most $50. That's all the Winchesters kept in the rooms they would occupy. He could let them go in peace.

No, the three would continue to steal and con, going about their business, _alive,_ because of him. He wouldn't back down.

Not without a fight.

Sam got his key out of his pocket and moved slowly, his sluggish form allowing him more time to think of a plan. He began to force tremors through his body, appearing scared. His hand trembled viciously, slowing everything down for a few seconds until he finally allowed the key to go into the keyhole. Sam unlocked it, swinging open the door.

As he had predicted, the room was empty, no trace of Dean or his dad. He still had no plan.

Unless you considered being used target practice a plan.

Sam led the group toward a small vault. The leader had gotten his gun back out, it's gaze never straying off Sam. Sam entered the combination slowly, pretending to mess up a few times and starting over.

You mess up one more time and a bullet goes through your brain." Sam froze. It was obviously getting old. Without pause, Sam entered the correct sequence.

He began opening it, then stopped momentarily. This was the only chance he had to make a stand.

He lashed out at the nearest enemy.

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_REALLY_ hope you liked it!!! I shall update soon. I really hate it when it takes the author a month for each update so, don't worry, I won't do that!! However, it may be hard updating for the next few days because I have exams next week.

**------------I also would like to add that dribbling a soccer ball does not involve using your hands. It's like dribbling with your hands…except with your** **feet. --just wanted 2 point that out =)**

Before I go I would also like to say thank to all those who have read or reviewed this story. I realize I have few reviews, but just reading you all's comments makes me swell up with happiness…you have no idea. I was jumping up and down when I saw that I had 5 reviews. So, to everyone, thank you.

**REVIEW OR BEWARE THE WRATH OF THE FINGER!!!!!!!!**


	3. Chapter 3

Dean and John headed back into the Impala, Dean in the passenger seat, smiles bright on their faces.

"Man, that was so much fun." Dean said, still laughing at the memory.

"I know it. They totally fell for that one" John said, his eyes gleaming at his son as Dean drove them out of the parking lot.

"How much did you get off of them?"

John tucked his hand in his pocket, then took it out, inspecting his earnings. "At least $500. Maybe more" he announced, stuffing the money back into his jacket pocket.

"Man did we make them squeal" he said, his smile never fading. "We heading home?"

John pondered the thought. Sam was probably still pissed at him for turning down his invitation to go to his soccer game. _Selfish kid. Thinks he owns the place._ He quickly decided to skip facing the wrath of his youngest. Though, the more John thought about it, the more he realized "wrath" was not the correct term to describe Sam. Sam was angry, yes, but he didn't raise his voice unless he had to. If he went home right now, Sam would show much disappointment, but not wrath. Sam would give them the silent treatment until he finally forgave them. However, in John's eyes, there was nothing he should be forgiven for.

Why should he have to apologize for missing some dumbass soccer game? He should be apologized to for Sam making it a big deal.

"Nah, let's try another bar. We've got to hit at least $1,000 before the end of the night."

He had made his decision.

Sam continued to fight the men with all his might, wish he was willing to admit, wasn't much. He had used up all his strength, he attempted taking the man's weapon, which ended with him getting shot in the shoulder. Sam breathed heavily as he threw a punch toward the man with the gun. He cried out in pain as his shoulder ached from the swift movement. He decided using the right arm, his more dominant hand, was no longer an option. He continuously kicked the man to his knees.

One of the other men, with only a pocket knife, came rushing toward Sam from behind, stabbing him in the back. Sam screamed, the pain in his shoulder no longer there as the knife burned through his back. He spun around, the knife sticking out of his back. Sam punched the man repeatedly, using only his left arm. The man fell to the ground limply as he hit the blood-smeared rug. Sam reached behind his back, grunting as he took the knife out of his back.

Another man regained consciousness, lunging toward him with all his might. Sam produced the pocket knife, and prepared himself as the man ran the short distance toward him. Sam got in a defensive stance, making sure to protect his right arm as he cut up the man's face, not yielding until minutes later. The man fell the floor. Sam was exhausted.

_Understatement of the year._

He dropped the knife, letting it fall to the floor. He was too injured, too tired to move. His vision began to blur around the edges, and felt himself lose consciousness. He couldn't allow himself to pass out. There were so many dangerous possibilities if he fell asleep now. Those men he thought could have backup, a demon could show up, he could fall into a coma. None of these options seemed in the slightest bit pleasant, but Sam began to give in anyway. He could no longer keep his eyes open as he lulled himself to sleep. Right before passing out, however, he saw a man lying on the ground beside him, regaining consciousness.

Dean and John continued to impress themselves as their money pile continued piling up. They had reached way over $1,000 by now, but they were having too much fun to stop now. They continued driving to different bars, allowing themselves to act drunk and foolish.

Their prey would come, ask to play a game of pool, with stakes. Dean and John would drunkenly agree, putting down $500 on the pool table, beer bottle in hand. Toward the middle of the game, Dean and John would get out of their stupor all of a sudden, and beat the other guy's asses. They would jack their money, leaving them speechless, as they ran away with the dough.

"Damn, we're good at this" Dean said, getting back into the Impala. He looked over at the clock. 12:32. Dean thought about his choices. One, go home to Sammy. Two, continue beating people at their own game. As much as he wanted to continue beating people's asses, he knew Sam would be worried. It was past midnight. Sam may have blew it all out of proportion and gone on a search for them.

Dean heaved a sigh. "I think we have to end this. Sammy doesn't know where we are."

"Oh, come now. Dean, he doesn't give a crap what we're doing. Come on, let's have some fun."

"Dad, I really think we need to go see Sammy" Dean said again, looking John in the eyes. "Please." Dean pleaded with his eyes, begging to see his baby brother.

John let a sigh escape his mouth as he considered seeing Sam.

He watched as Dean's eyes started filling with anger, not at all what he had expected. "What?" Dean continued to glare at his father, never breaking eye contact. "You're scared to see him, aren't you Dad? Goddamn it he's your son Dad!" John watched Dean, dumbfounded.

Though he would never admit it, Dean didn't know how right he was. John couldn't begin to think of how many times he has had to look Sam in the eyes, and tell him despicable things. He would watch as Sam's face fell, his heart breaking softly at his father's words. John almost felt as though he could see his son's heart breaking in two, and watching Sam's attempt to hide the pain was unbearable. John felt water fill his eyes and he had to look away, breaking Dean's gaze. "Dean, I'm not afraid" he said in his best soldier voice. He got complete control of the almost-waterworks and turned back to face Dean. "Let's go home." Dean nodded his approval and started up the engine, rushing home. _Here we come, Sammy._

_*********_

Dean and John parked the car in front of their motel room. As they got out, they noticed their room was slightly ajar. They looked at each other and synchronized their movements toward the door. They each prepared themselves for whatever was in there. What the saw, however, was nothing they could have prepared themselves for. There was blood everywhere around the room; walls, floor, even the fucking ceiling. Dean looked at the gory scene, taking in every inch, but found no trace of Sam or the perpetrator.

He walked over to the small table and bent down, frantically looking around. On top of the table, a small note was left, small splotches of blood covering some of it up. It was a phone number. _746-5398. _Oh God. What has he done?

**REALLY REAALLLLLYYYYY sorry for the mistake i made on this chapter the first time. i actually feel really bad for making it scrunch all together...it kinda takes away the atmosphere when you're having trouble following the story. i won't let it happen again though.....**

**I love u all!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

**REVIEW OR BEWARE THE WRATH OF THE FINGER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**


	4. Chapter 4

HOPE U LIKE IT!!!! sorry it's so short!!

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Dean cried silently, tears streaking his cheeks. Sam was gone. Out of his grasp, with God only knows who. Or what. There were no concrete clues on what happened here. Besides a major fight. Blood was splattered everywhere, giving both Dean and John a pretty good idea what happened.

But it's the details they're lacking. There is no evidence of _why _there was a fight or _how _any of this started.

Dean began blaming himself, the guilt slowly consuming him. If he hadn't been so selfish none of this would've happened. Sam would be safe from any potential harm, and they would still have a buttload of money (in their case, it was considered a large quantity).

It was all his fault. _Well, can't ponder on the past now._ Though he said those words to himself over and over until his head throbbed, it didn't assure him in the least.

Dean picked up the note again. _746-5398._

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Sam woke up with a start, cold water splashing all over him. He shivered violently, turning his head furiously left and right, looking for the culprit.

It was dark, only allowing him to see an outline of a body, of what he believed to be a man. Sam, still shivering lightly, could almost see the man's cold sneer as he looked up at him.

He realized his hands were chained to the wall, as were his feet. He struggled with the bonds, in dire need of a hairpin, even a toothpick. He sat up more, searching for anything that could be used as a weapon. A phone was ringing from a distance, and the man in front of him walked away, heading toward the ringing noise. The ringing stopped moments later as Sam listened to the man's inaudible whispers. He strained his ears further, his futile action going unnoticed as the man continued speaking in a monotone voice.

After a few minutes he walked toward Sam, bent down to his level, and put the phone to his ear.

"Sam?"

He gasped. Dean was on the other line. Everything would be okay now. _He hasn' forgetten about me._ _He's coming to save me_.

"Dean?" His voice had a raspy, hoarse sound to it. It hurt to talk. _A lot._

"Hey, Sammy. You okay?" His voice was barely a whisper, if that. Sam grew sad, a heavy burden growing on his soul. Dean sounded so _depressed. _It was his fault he was kidnapped, making Dean have to deal with his screw-ups.

"I'm fine, Dean-" The phone was pulled away from him before he could speak further about the situation. The man put the phone back to his ear, still kneeling in front of Sam.

"I want 200,000 by the end of the week. With every day that passes that I'm not paid, Sammy here will get punished. I suggest you hurry." The man's voice was cold, cruel as a demon's, if not more.

_If this was a human..._

The man hung up the phone. He placed his hand on Sam's cheek, caressing it rather roughly. "We're going to be having some fun aren't we, Sammy-boy?"

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_Shit._ Dean ran a hand through his hair. How could he let this happen? _To his own brother?!_ Dean told John of the ransom. No way in hell would they be able to get $200,000 on the spot. They had to find another way.

"So, what's the plan, Dad?" His father was obviously not happy about the situation at hand. He put a hand to his stubble, all te possibilities goin thorugh his mind.

"Well, we obviously can't get the money, unless we steal it, of course, which is _not_ an option. All we can do is see if we can found out their location and kill the bitch."

"How the hell are we gonna find their hideout?"

"That's a good question..."

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i realize it's so short but look on the bright side, EXAMS ARE OVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! now i can go back to updating like, everyday, which would be awesome. None of my future updates will be this freakishly short, but what can a girl do....

anyway, hope u enjoyed this chapter!!!

**REVIEW OR BEWARE THE WRATH OF THE FINGER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**


	5. Chapter 5

**HAVE A MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!!!!! (OR HANUKKAH =) I HOPE YOU ALL LOVE YOUR PRESENTS!! THIS IS MY PRESENT FROM ME TO YOU!!!!  
XOXOXOXOXOXOOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO**

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Sam continued down the corridor, blindfolded. He wanted to lash out at the man behind him, guiding him along. Though, that wouldn't be very smart, on the account that he had a gun and Sam did not.

So Sam was willingly brought to a room, what he supposed was definitely uncanny and sadistic. His arms were tied behind his back and tape was applied to his mouth. He was pushed down into a chair and the blindfold was removed, the tape then ripped off his mouth. As predicted the room was definitely uncanny, and probably used in a sadistic manner. The gray walls were splotched with dry blood, as was the floor. As he looked up, he even saw blood on the ceiling. He couldn't fathom how it had gotten up there.

He was seated at a white table as a man sat down in the chair across from him. He obviously didn't feel the need to cover his face because he wore the cap to his forehead. Maybe he forgot he _wasn't _supposed to show his face. Sam couldn't help but smile as he thought of the amateurs that ran this place. How could he have been caught by this freak?

"Is there a problem, Winchester?" Sam sat stiff. How had he known his name? His _real _name? He stopped smiling and gave the man, who he himself was now smiling, a hard glare. There's was something just _wrong _about this guy.

And not because his walls were covered in blood, he was showing his face, and he wanted a $200,000 ransom.

Sam sneered at the man without concern, attempting an heir of indifference. "What the hell do you want?"

He watched as the man's smirk grew larger. "I want a lot of things. You see, I'm a man with needs."

Sam rolled his eyes. "What a faggot" he muttered under his breath. The man didn't seem to appreciate this, seeing as he stood up and punching him from across the table. He hit Sam in the gut, knocking the breath out of him. He staggered in his seat, swaying violently. Sam felt bile crawl up his throat. He swallowed hard, fruitlessly attempting to get rid of the horrible taste.

Damn. That hurt like hell.

Sam gave the man his best glare. He was already sitting down again with his elbows resting on the table, his hands clasped together.

"Have you learned your lesson or shall we go for Round 2?" Sam sat silently, not daring to see a word yet not willing to back down. He continued staring the man down as he began to stand up again. He reared back and punched Sam with all his might, followed by several, quicker punches.

Sam gasped from the pain, feeling the sudden urge to kill himself. This guy was strong. Maybe _too_ strong. Sam began wondering if this man really was human. His strength was stupendous, and even with those two fierce punches, he was hardly breathing loud. He was either in really good shape or there was something up.

Sam voted the latter.

"It would be in your best interest that you response when I speak to you."

Sam heaved a sigh. Here he was, hands tied behind his back, completely vulnerable, and he was dealing with some supernatural entity. What made this even worse was that Dean was no where in sight. His heart ached. The ransom would never be met, and Dean and John would never find him. He was _so _screwed. The now known supernatural creature stared him down, waiting for a response.

Or, that was the theory. There was no concrete proof he _wasn't_ human. But the possibilities of him being human were slim to none. The cold, dark eyes seemed feverish, decayed with time, his eyes decades older than his body.

The man walked over to Sam, who was too lost in thought to notice. He bent down to look him threateningly in the eyes. Sam seemed to soar when he finally saw the movement in his peripheral vision. The man didn't falter, staying his ground as Sam seemed to squirm from the attention. The man brought his hand up to Sam's face, softly caressing his cheek. Sam flinched noticeably, then stiffened, as immobile as a statue.

"Dean's not coming for you." Sam hissed vehemently. He wasn't going to fall for that shit. For him to just give in because he is made to believe nobody cares for him. _Hell no_. He's seen that _way_ too many times in movies, even real life. Dean cared about him, and he was coming for him.

The only probably was, would he come too late?

"You're a fucking liar."

The man got noticeably angrier. The caresses rapidly developed into clawings, turning his cheek red from the force which was the man's nails. The pressure increased as he began breaking Sam's skin, causing him to let out a grunt. He attempted to lean his head to the right, away from the contact, but was yanked back by the man's other hand.

"Nobody, I mean _nobody,_ calls me a liar and gets away with it." Sam turned his gaze to the man. If it were possible the man seemed impossibly fiercer. His eyes were blacker than midnight, older than before, scaring the shit out of Sam. Okay, this piece of shit was _not_ human.

The man gave a devious smile as he pulled Sam to his feet suddenly. He led him out of the room, and took him into another, larger room, not bothering to put the blindfold back on.

Sam had to make an effort, a big one at that, to hold back his sudden panic. It was an experimental room; hearts, fingers, intestines, and unknown bodily fluids were lined up tidily on a shelf. The shelf covered the whole left wall, and there was not one space that was not already filled. Sam shivered spastically as his heart beat drastically faster.

"Why am I here?" Sam gulped, his words barely coming out as no more than a whisper.

He watched as the man stepped up, looking at his work. His face shone brightly. He obviously felt it was a job well done.

"This is what I do for a living. I test on human bodies, trying to find out what makes them _tick_" He sighed. The man looked back to Sam, yet another malicious look on his face. "Then again, I don't test _ordinary_ humans, that's much too boring. Some seem to _stand_ out more than others. Like you, for instance. I could see your powerful aura a mile away. It was…breathtaking."

The man turned toward Sam fully. Sam broke into sweat. What was he talking about? There was nothing different about him? If anything he was below normal, worse than a typical human. He was dirt; worth maybe a nickel, but no more. He felt tears sting his eyes as _everything_ crashed down on him. Here he was, completely alone, with this psycho who wanted to rip him open and took a look around, see if there was anything _special_ about him.

He had never felt so alone in his life. He would give anything for Dean to come through that door, and rip this thing to pieces. It was pretty obvious now he was supernatural; humans never have and never will be capable of sensing one's aura. They're too stupid. Not only that, humans just _don't_ do that.

Sam stiffened as the man began walking toward him, holding a large syringe in his hand. "Don't worry boy, this won't hurt a bit."

Sam watched as the man came toward him with the needle. It seemed much too thick for an ordinary shot. Sam tensed as the man appeared right in front of him, preparing himself.

Sam swirled around as the man shot down the syringe, allowing it to hit the rope that kept his hands tied together. Finally freed from the burden, he ran for the door as fast as his legs could carry him.

This was definitely not the way he wanted to go out.

Sam did not here the man stir from behind him, but he could have sworn he heard him utter the words "It makes no difference. You're mine now."

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Still not as long as I won't but hey, what can you do...sorry about no John or Dean...now that I have 3 stories up it may take a little longer for me to update but don't worry, I have not forgotten about any of my stories!!! Also, since Christmas is coming up I have to get ready for that...gotta buy presents -.-

ANYWWAAYYYYY, i hope u enjoyed this chapter!!!!

**_REVIEW OR BEWARE THE WRATH OF MY REINDEER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_ **

**MERRYYY CHRISTMAS TO YOU ALLLLLL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (OR HANUKKAH =)  
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hope you like it!!! U MUST REVIEW!!!!! ****No**** buts! **

_**I LOVE YOU GUYS AS MUCH AS I LOVE MY PET FISH FLUFFY!!!!!!!!**_

P.S- I do not have a fish **=O**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. If I did, well, let's not get into that….. =]**

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Sam ran blindly, not paying heed to any of his surroundings as he ran outside, his full focus on getting the hell out of dodge. He continued onward, his joints already searing from the pain. He didn't know how much longer he could take of this. He slowed his pace a couple notches, finally looked around at his surroundings. He was running alongside a small pasture, most of the crops being planted already dead or wilted from lack of nutrition. From here, Sam could see a cheap diner, The Grazer's Diner, which is where the Winchesters had gone to eat dinner countless times in the past. They would pass by the pasture to get to the diner and, as a result, he could make his way to the motel room with little difficulty, well aware of where to go with no need for a map.

He just hoped he would find someone waiting for him when he gets there.

He checked his pocket as his adrenaline died down, his pace drastically beginning to decrease. He rustled his hand around in his back pocket, in frantic search for his cell phone. There was no finding it, probably having been taken by the man when he was kidnapped.

He neared the pace of a crawl as he walked on, every step taking him one step closer to the motel which, hopefully, led to Dean and his father. He wasn't sure what he would do if they weren't there. All the options ran through his mind as he considered finding an empty motel room. He could use the hopefully-working phone available in the motel room and call Dean's cell.

The road before him stretched on as it became increasingly difficult to breathe. His body ached, his limps sweltering from the pain. His chest felt completely broken, as if it had fallen apart from countless years of torture. Angry tears leaked from his eyes, urging himself forward.

This was all his fault; if he hadn't have been so fucking weak _none_ of this would have happened and he wouldn't be in this dilemma.

For once in his life, he didn't give a damn about his dignity. He wanted to be next to his brother, allowing Dean to give him the words of comfort he so desperately needed. When was this nightmare going to end?

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Dean and John continued their drive around the town, scoping every inch in search of the youngest Winchester.

Dean was emotionally drained. His baby brother was missing, completely out of his grasp. He, nor his father, had any clue of where to start their search for Sammy. He felt the overwhelming urge to crawl into a corner and weep. Cheesy or not, his brother was his whole life. Without Sam, he was nothing. The only thing that could make this right is if his only little, fifteen-year old brother were in his arms right now, safe and sound. He knew, more than anything, that this couldn't happen. That's what haunted him the most.

He had been in denial, but not anymore. He knew, for a fact, that something _awful_ had happened. Not just a minor kidnapping had taken place. His gut was telling him that this was _serious_, very possibly related to something supernatural, but was unsure of what.

They went on driving in silence; neither wanting to break the tension they felt slowly overcoming them. They had nothing to say that didn't involve Sammy, and involving Sam was too painful at this point.

John drove through familiar areas they have visited in the past. The only way he could get back home without going astray would be to follow a recognizable path. He arrived at the diner. People were milling around in and out of The Grazer's Diner, walking restlessly from place to place.

The two looked frantically in the crowd, searching for the youngest Winchester. They got out of the Impala and looked in, behind, and around the diner. No Sam. Deflated, Dean walked back into the passenger seat of the Impala, John following on his heels.

"Okay, no luck there." John said exhaustedly. "Maybe we should-"

"We are _not_ taking a break until we find Sammy."

John heaved a long, exasperated sigh. "Dean-"

Dean turned to John, his eyes burning with rage. He would _not_ settle for anything less than finding Sammy, _alive_.

"We _will_ keep searching. And we _will_ find him."

John hesitated, then nodded slowly, revved the engine, and started driving. Dean turned his gaze toward the window, keeping a lookout for his baby brother.

They drove a ways until they saw a kid on the side of the street, asleep or unconscious. He was flat on his stomach, his head facing away from them. Dean gasped as the thought entered his mind. _That could be Sam._

He jumped out of the Impala and ran toward the boy. It felt like he was running a marathon, like he was in slow motion. They odds for that kid to be Sam were pretty high. His shirt was pretty ripped up and he was bleeding in several different spots.

Dean, at long last, reached the kid and, very carefully, turned him over. He let out a breath that he didn't know he was holding, just to do the same again. It _was_ Sammy. The only problem was, he didn't know if he _wanted_ it to be.

The kid was gory, blood covering his shirt and face. He had bruises placed randomly all over his body. There were nail markings on his cheek, probably produced from a human hand.

Dean'ss anger came off of him in waves. Whoever did this was gonna pay.

John ran over to where Dean was and saw Sam. He quickly bent down and unbuttoned his shirt, looking for any other injuries. He heard Dean huff loudly as they both looked at the large, purple bruise in the middle of his stomach. It was surrounded by many other, smaller bruises.

Dean's rage increased impossibly further. He yelled out and punched his fist into the concrete with all his might, not caring about the damage inflicted upon him. Whatever pain he had given himself, it wasn't nearly as bad as Sammy's.

John had begun to pick Sam up when he began to awaken. Sam flexed his fingers. John shook Dean's shoulder, getting his full attention, and pointed to Sam. Dean's eyes began to fill with tears as he looked into the eyes of his brother.

Sam's eyes were glassy and unfocused, but he was more than aware of the person he was seeing. Only Dean had a smell of sweat, work, and aftershave and could make it smell good.

Sam offered Dean, then John, a small smile.

"Hey."

Dean bestowed a small laugh. "Hey, Sammy." John offered a small smile.

Sam began the process of standing up, when Dean urged him back onto the floor.

"Don't move, Sammy. You could just worsen your injuries."

Sam pouted. "Am I going to stay here forever?" Dean offered another laugh.

"Nah. Allow me." Dean scooted beside Sam and picked him up with ease. Sam flushed as he felt himself being hoisted into Dean's arms. Dean was still grinning from ear to ear.

"Damn, kid, you're skinny." Sam blushed furiously.

Dean carried Sam to the Impala and set him down in the backseat, allowing him more space. John got into the driver's seat as Dean scooted into the backseat with Sam.

John looked in the rearview mirror and smiled. Sam was stretched out in the backseat, his head resting in Dean's lap as Dean played with his hair.

His sons were back.

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hope u liked it guys!! Thought I would end on a good note!! I realize it's taken me a long time to update for this story....sorry about that!! _Won't happen again!!!!_

I _shall_ update soon. I must also update my 2 other stories: "Kill For You" and "Won't Back Down". I would love u for this lifetime _and _the next if you went and checked them out!! You might like one, if not both!! =)

**LUV YA!!!!!!!!! Have an awesome NEW YEAR'S!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

P.S.- **I have made another poll**!! It asks what your fav story of mine is!! Please take the time to answer it! I REALLY need to know so I can put more time into that fanfic!!!! Insight is KEY!!!

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	7. Chapter 7

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**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. If I did, well, let's not get into that….. =]**

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Sam had fallen asleep in the backseat, his head resting on Dean's shoulder. He had been exhausted. It felt as though his mind had floated afar, neither wanting nor capable of getting it back. He let himself drift into unconsciousness, feeling the warmth radiating from his brother.

Dean continued to smooth Sam's hair as he heard his breathing even out. He gave Sam a once-over, anger gathering deep inside of him as he looked at Sam's deep welts, bruises and scratches colored all over his thin frame.

Who had been Sam's attacker? It had to have been a supernatural bitch. Sam was more than capable of fighting a low-life human. Sam had always been one of the most graceful fighters he had known. He had always preferred knives, while Dean went with the guns and explosives. Dean smiled wryly, the thought of Sam against a human and _losing_ nearly baffling him completely. The way Sam handled himself, there was _no_ way he could lose to an average human.

Dean, with no concrete evidence to accept either half-concocted theory, let his mind turn away from them. His thoughts drifted to Sammy. Whether it be cheesy or stupid, he didn't know, nor did he care, but his brother had _always_ been his whole world. Sam's self-esteem had always been meager; Sam never allowed himself enough confidence that, if he were rejected in any manner, he would ever give a damn.

John was always tough on Sammy, ever since he had been a little boy, always comparing him to Dean. But he knew John didn't mean for it to _hurt_ Sam, though the look in Sam's eyes should have been _more_ than enough. He was just trying to make a point. John had always been the impassive one, never aware of the hurt or disappoint in his son's eyes when he did something excessively un-called for. John wasn't an expert in emotions, which was probably the reason why John had been straying away from Sam ever since they found him in the forest. John's love for them both was overriding, but any emotions were unacceptable to his name.

Dean looked at the window, watching the wilting maple trees pass by with a blur. They were heading back to the motel room, with John driving 20MPH over the speed limit, screeching past other cars and, in return, being given loud honks from the cars and an occasional shout. John didn't seem to notice in the least, his youngest son engulfing his mind like a tidal wave, flushing his mind of everything but Sam.

They arrived at the shabby motel. It looked as though the slightest draft would knock the whole thing down with a loud shebang, but it was surprisingly firm. John got out of the driver's seat, heading over to the back door. Dean opened the door, careful not to rouse Sammy. Dean slowly got out of the Impala, now propping Sam's head on his hand.

Dean carefully scooped Sam into his arms, surprised at how light the kid felt. He'd always been small for his age, but damn, he was anorexic or something. Dean headed over to the not-so-flimsy motel, John walking ahead of them. He opened the door, allowing Dean passage as he lugged his brother in the direction of their room.

John, once again, ran in front of them, stopping in front of their room. He unlocked their room, jabbing his key into the keyhole, then jerking it open. Dean quickly, yet extremely wary of the frail kid in his arms, walked into the room, shutting the door with his foot, then allowing John to lock it behind him. He set Sam down on the bed they shared, carefully positioning a pillow to rest under his head.

Dean looked over Sam again, a smile appearing on his lips. He looked so much younger than 15 when he slept, being the inheritor of innocence and youth ever since birth. His face had always had a babyish look to it, making a _lot_ of girls fight for his acknowledgement in them. Sam, however, was always too naïve to ever notice the attention he got, all the while sticking his nose in some book.

The thought abruptly stopped when he heard himself laugh. His baby brother was in pain, lying unconscious on the bed, and he was _laughing_. He did allow himself a small smile as he looked at Sam's form. He had grown up nicely, despite their perfectly fucked up life.

He broke his gaze on Sam, turning to face his father, whom was digging in his bag for the first-aid kit. He achieved the kit, and tossed it to Dean, who hadn't really been paying attention. He bottled it for a few moments before getting a firm grip on it.

"Patch him up. I'll get us some food."

Without another word, John was out the door. Wordlessly, Dean sat down on the bed, being cautious not to abruptly plop on the bed from his exhaustion and wake up Sam. He slowly undressed Sam, unbuttoning Sam's shirt than sliding off his jeans. Sam winced but conscious had not come back, leaving him in the alternate world he was now floating in.

Left in only boxers, Sam began to shiver, a chill running down his spine. Dean muttered his apologies to his baby brother, and began getting out ointment for the scratches. He dug for the gauze wrap, which will be used for Sam's broken and/or cracked bones. He looked Sam over, evaluating his condition thoughtfully.

First, Dean added ointment to the four long scratches on Sam's left cheek. He began to check for internal injuries. Dean placed the four finger on each hand in the center of his chest, his thumbs sticking outward, toward Sam's armpits. Carefully, he began adding pressure to the ribs, feeling what he would call "holes" in Sam's chest. He sighed loudly when he had finished, realizing the bastard had done a good bit of harm to Sam's ribs. He wrapped Sam's ribs, extremely vigilant, constantly gazing back to Sam, watching for any reaction.

Once he was done wrapping Sam's ribs, he headed into the kitchen. He opened one of the few cabinets in the small area, pulling out Heinz vinegar. Before leaving he grabbed a few cotton balls, then headed back to the living room.

When he got back he was stunned to see Sam, fully conscious, making the attempt to get off the bed. Dean hurried to Sam's side, placing the Heinz vinegar and cotton balls on John's bed.

"Hey, kiddo, try not to move, all right?" Dean eased a reluctant Sam back onto the bed, his head once again resting on the pillow.

He watched Sam look down at his chest, gasping at the pain that had been inflicting his weary body. Dean washed with guilt as Sam looked away from the bruises, willing himself to concentrate on something other than the pain.

He went back to get the vinegar and cotton balls, then sat down on the bed beside Sammy. He dipped the cotton ball in the Heinz vinegar, then began padding it across Sam's chest, covering every inch of his multiple bruises.

"Sorry, Sammy" Dean said immediately when Sam hissed from a particularly large bruise being brushed too hard on.

Dean had finished up with Sam nearly fifteen minutes later, seeing that all the wounds in the universe had accumulated on his small body. About the time Dean finished up, John was coming in the room, food in hand.

"Hope Chinese is okay" John said, placing the food on the small dinner table. Dean watched warily as Sam urged himself up. He swatted Dean's hand away lightly when he tried to help, making it a known fact he wanted to get up by himself.

Dean, though never making physical contact, never strayed far away from Sam as he walked over to the table. Once he was settled, Dean allowed himself the pleasure of seating himself next to Sam.

All at the dinner table, they sat in silence as they ate their food. Both John and Dean had contemplated discussing what had happened today with Sam, but voted against it. Once he got some rest, then they could talk. Until then, Dean just sat there, throwing food in his mouth, with Sammy at his side.

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HOPE U LIKED IT!!!!! I really enjoyed writing this chapter so I hope u enjoyed reading it!!!!! No cliffy, thought I would end on a good note!! =)

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